by Kurt Gepner
{Yes,} he said as if from distraction. {We’re all doing our best to get through this together.} He reached for the rifle. Andrea grabbed his hand and let him pull her to her feet.
"You seem awful anxious to get this rifle," she said apprehensively.
{No,} he denied. {I… hope to repay a great debt.}
The man seemed guarded and nervous, but sincere. Andrea shrugged it off as a condition of their situation and allowed her tension to dissipate. "I know what you mean," she said. "We’re all in debt to Hank and Evie." Her eyes grew bulbous. "She’s got guts!"
{But she locked away the food,} he tentatively accused.
Andrea shrugged. "It’s not like we’ve gone hungry. We’ve found food, haven’t we? Evie’s just not letting Stew push her around." She glanced around at the ground to see that nobody was nearby. Then she leveled a meaningful look at him with her large eyes. "That man is dangerous, like a snake."
Enrique nodded certainly. {I too think he is dangerous.}
Andrea smiled at him, finally feeling that they were in agreement. "Thanks for not saying anything."
{You looked worried when you saw me, so I kept my mouth shut.} He looked down with a posture of shame. {You could have had my family deported, but you let us go.}
"Is that what you do, Enrique?" She tilted her head so that she could look him in the eye. "You go around returning favors?"
{When I can,} he answered with a shrug. {But why would you not want them to know that you are a law officer?}
It was her turn to appear shamed. "For my own reasons," she said. Then she handed him the rifle. "Don’t ask again."
As Enrique took the rifle, he said, {No matter the future, Officer McDarcy, please know that I honor you.}
Andrea looked at Enrique for a long moment. "If you do," she said finally, "you will never say that name again."
He averted his eyes and said, {You should go and get rest. Tomorrow will be a new day with new challenges for each of us to face.}
Andrea patted him on the shoulder as she walked past him. "You talk like you know something."
Under his breath, beyond a perceptible range, he said, {Perhaps I do.}
* * * * *
Salvador didn’t like these new arrivals. They were snobs. He’d listened to Enrique and Stewart talking like old college buddies. Salvador knew their type. They were privileged, educated. They thought that the law didn’t apply to them. They looked down on anybody who didn’t have a degree. Evie was like that. Even his wife and Hank were like that, which made the latter two hypocrites because neither had finished college.
At that thought, Salvador paused and furrowed his sweat-soaked brow. He was beginning to doubt his assumptions. Not only had Hank shown his family loyalty, by going off to save his brother, but Norah had been at his side nearly every minute since he got hurt and especially now that he was sick. When Stew had tried to make him move in with the chickens so that somebody else could steer the U-haul, Norah had looked the man in the eye and told him to "fuck off." His wife never ever cussed and that she would for him was more revealing than even her wedding vows.
Those were uncertainties and he would think about them later. What was certain was his contempt for the Escobars. Salvador’s family had scrimped together enough money to enter the United States legally. His family had toiled to bring everyone across the border. And his family had studied hard to pass the tests to become legal citizens.
The Escobar family had used their connections and snuck across. That family had exploited the system. They were like leeches. And what he just overheard had proved what he suspected all along. The worst of it was that Andrea was a part of the problem. He was certain that he had missed nothing of their conversation. It was difficult to hear them, but his family was sleeping quietly and the window was open. He was sure that he had heard that Andrea was a police officer and that she knew the Escobars were illegals.
Salvador was infuriated. He didn’t even pretend to be asleep when Andrea climbed off the U-haul. Not that it mattered, she didn’t notice him in the dark. Salvador was infuriated and impotent. It wasn’t just his condition that made him impotent, it was his sense of honor. He wouldn’t say anything about what he knew, because it wasn’t his place, but he didn’t have to like it. He didn’t like it. And he didn’t like the Escobars. In fact, he didn’t like anybody here, except his wife and daughters. As far as he was concerned, they were trapped in a place they didn’t belong. Worst of all, there was nothing… nothing at all, that he could do about it.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The morning dawned clear. Stomachs rumbled with hunger. Evie was among the first to stand and survey the land. Yesterday they reached 164th Avenue, just before sunset. It was blocked by a wall of cars. Stew had been contrite from the moment Evie had committed him on the quest to find Hank. He consulted with her on nearly every topic. They agreed that whoever had arranged the cars had meant to keep people out. If they had gone to that much trouble, it might not be much more trouble for them to shoot a trespasser. The Caravan continued onward, with the intention of using 192nd to join with SR14.
By following Mill Plain Boulevard, they passed through an industrial area and found their way to an ideal area for a camp. Evie was satisfied with their progress, if not pleased, because they had covered about five miles in only a few hours. The only difficulties that they had with people were internal. On a number of occasions, the newest members of their tribe attempted to gain access to the U-haul, but Andrea had stopped them with threat of the rifle.
As the new morning dawned, the travelers all gathered at the head of the Duck Truck. It was becoming a common sight for Stewart to be standing on the hood, looking down at those who congregated before him. The exception to this morning was that Enrique was holding Donkers to Stewart’s left while Diego, Enrique’s younger brother, held the thirty-ought-six pistol to Stewart’s right.
"Good morning, Folks," Stew said in cheerful greeting. "I hope that you all slept well." Enrique translated for his family and a communal grumble emanated from the crowd. Stew went on without acknowledging their displeasure. "Dinner worked out for us, but breakfast may not be so forthcoming. If we work hard, we might make good time while keeping our bellies full. Team A, I want you on car detail," he dictated. "Team B, you and Team C need to find us food." He regarded Evie at that point, but a new edge had replace yesterday’s apologetic demeanor. "Would you like to add anything?"
Evie looked around. "Not really," she said. "Just give those weapons to Andrea and Silas and get us to SR14."
"I’ve changed the duties a little bit, Evie," Stewart said with a smile that was at once genial and predatory. "Andrea is replacing Enrique on Team C and I’ve pulled Diego from Team A so he can help his brother with watch. I’m sure you’ll agree that having two sets of eyes looking for danger is a lot better than one….?"
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Matt woke up his wife, but he left Hank to rest. His brother’s fever was unbelievable. And he didn’t respond to any sort of noise.
"Is Uncle Henry going to die?" Ella asked.
"Did I die?" Matt asked in return. He didn’t wait for an answer. "Uncle Henry is sick, but he’s not going to die." The confidence that Matt invested in his voice did not begin to persuade him from his own fears. In fact, he was afraid that Hank would die. One of the first things that you learn about the history of sword combat was that the smallest wound was life threatening. Infections killed as many medieval knights as battle did. Before antibiotics, there was only a barbaric form of medicine and the power of prayer. In Matt’s opinion, the former was only slightly more effective than the latter.
"Does he have Chicken Pox?" Steven was distraught over the condition of his favorite uncle.
"No," Matt reassured his son. He mussed the boy’s golden locks with his unbound hand. "He’s got owies."
"Oh," Steven nodded sagely.
"Daddy," Ella said. "What are we going to do today?"
Matt smiled at his daugh
ter. "I’m not entirely sure, but I think we’ll be spending a lot of time waiting."
"What are we waiting for?" Steven frowned with confusion.
"You’re Aunt Evie and a bunch more people are on the way to meet us," he said. "They should be here pretty soon."
Marissa had stepped away from camp for a moment. When she returned, she said, "I’m going down to those houses to go shopping. Are there any requests?"
Steven became very animated. "Pizza rolls! I want pizza rolls!"
"Corn dogs!" Ella burst out with equal enthusiasm. "And tater-tots."
Matt chuckled. "Well, since you asked, I wouldn’t mind a bottle of Bordeaux and some gorgonzola."
Marissa ticked off an imaginary list and said, "All right, I’ll see what I can find. I shouldn’t be gone for more than an hour." Matt stood and embraced his wife. They kissed and Marissa said, "You keep that shotgun close and in plain sight."
"I will," he said.
"A group of people passed by last night," she cautioned. "It was just like Hank said. The gun didn’t scare them until I pumped it. Then they gave us a wide berth."
"I will," Matt said again. He kissed her once more. "If you can’t find any Bordeaux, I’ll be happy with a nice meaty Merlot." They chuckled, but the twinkle in their eyes faded when Hank moaned.
Marissa kissed her children grabbed the crowbar and headed off toward 164th. She could have forged a path down the hill, through the blackberry vines and fences, but it seemed more sensible to go the extra distance and avoid the scratches and labor. Besides, her hips and lower back felt as if lumps of molten iron had been poured into her bones and she wanted to work her muscles loose with a good walk.
Where 164th ended, a pristine cemetery lay like a marble and granite rose garden. The grass hadn’t yet got shaggy looking. The whole field didn’t fit in, like a pearl necklace doesn’t fit in with a pan of meat loaf. In a different world, Marissa would have stood and pondered the serene tableau. She would have wondered at the organized headstones and manicured lawn that was surrounded by a ruined world of people frantically clawing for their own continued existence. But in this world she walked by quickly, entirely focused on procuring food and returning to her family.
She came to a neighborhood that seemed no different from any other. The houses had all suffered the same destruction that she was accustomed to seeing. Here and there a shed or garage survived and those were her targets as she moved through the desolation with a single-minded purpose.
What made this neighborhood stand out from so many others was its peacefulness. It was nestled, almost invisibly, between the highway and the Columbia River. Maybe it was happenstance, pure serendipity, that no one was home when the Flare slammed into the Earth, but everything about this residential area appeared to be untouched.
It was clear from much of the remaining architecture that the neighborhood was old and well established. Perhaps, a part of Marissa mused, the spirit of the place had seen what was coming and wanted to die alone. Perhaps that was a silly idea. Either way it was fleeting and did not distract her from her cause.
A spattering of modern upscale homes had sprouted between a wide assortment of older dwellings. Some had been dilapidated and rickety structures that should probably have been condemned years before. Others had been noble houses with broad verandas and climbing roses. It didn’t matter now, of course, because they were all gutted by fire. The older homes, more often, had the detached garage and other outbuildings that Marissa sought.
As quickly as possible she sifted through the treasure that people had, just days ago, only seen fit to forget in the nooks and crannies of their homes. In the first garage that she searched, among mechanics and garden tools, she found buckets of paint, high school yearbooks and few pieces of bedroom furniture. Then she uncovered a bin of women’s shoes and thought about Matt and her children and all of the barefooted people they’d passed. They were all too small for Matt or herself and too large for Steven or Ella. I could trade them for food, she thought. She decided to leave them. If she found nothing else, then she would come back to them as a last resort.
One garage was loaded with sealed boxes that were packed with tins of gourmet coffee. From front to back, floor to ceiling, there was barely enough room to squeeze in sideways. She opened a can and breathed deeply of the aroma. This, I am definitely taking, she thought merrily. I’ll come back to it. I need to find a bag. I should have brought the gym bag that held our gear, she berated herself.
Marissa continued through the neighborhood, remaining vigilant of threats, but perpetually amazed that everything was untouched. It was as if this narrow strip of land, between the highway and the river, had been forgotten.
She came across a shed that was built of huge cut stones. The masonry work was admirable. The double doors were painted a happy, carefree yellow and were hinged with ornate wrought iron. It was a piece of art, tucked under the boughs of an ancient cedar tree. Marissa felt no remorse when she pried open the lock with her crowbar. The craftsmanship held no meaning other than to hint at the value of its contents.
It was like walking into an old world cellar. Several globes of cheese, sausages, salami and a few hams hung from the ceiling. An iron wine-tree adorned the back wall and three of its six loops held bottles. The left side wall had shelves loaded with quart jars. They were full of every kind of thing that could be canned: Pears and peaches, strawberry and blackberry jam, whole and diced tomatoes, stews, soups and sauces, pickles, green beans, carrots, corn and even salmon.
Below the jars of food were the tools used for canning: A pressure cooker, lids, measuring cups, funnels, jars and much more. The other side of the shed was dedicated to gardening and among the object occupying that half, she discovered a yard cart. It was about three feet wide, by four long and two deep, with large spoked wheels.
Set in the center of the shed, a small round, linen covered table was bordered by two ornate wrought-iron chairs. The table had two place settings of fine crystal and silver. A red candle stood proudly in a black iron holder beside a red rose drooping down the side of a slender vase. Under the vase was a hand-written note. "Hullo," Marissa said aloud and carefully lifted the vase to take the note from under it.
Dear Mom and Dad,
I know you wanted to be in Tuscany for this, but since that didn’t work out, I thought I’d bring that little café a little closer to home.
I’ll see you tonight.
Happy 50th Anniversary,
~Dawn
She blinked away tears as she looked across the lawn, toward the house. "You don’t know me," she said with deep sincerity, "and we’ll probably never meet, but I am more grateful to you than I can ever express. If you are made to suffer, by me taking these things, I am terribly sorry. I hope that you are in good health and comfort, somewhere with good friends and family. Thank you."
Marissa knew she couldn’t linger and offered no more tribute for her benefactors. She tossed aside the table and chairs and wasted no time in filling the yard cart with the food. There was not enough room for the canning gear and so, after an agonizing personal debate, she left it behind in favor of immediate survival. All the hanging food she wrapped in a tarp and tied it on top of the cart with twine. As she was leaving, she noticed a pair of garden shoes that would fit Matt’s feet, so she tucked them in her cart as well.
When Marissa got safely back to the camp, Hank still slept but alternately shivered and moaning. They woke him to make him drink water and eat pears. He couldn’t eat much.
As the rest of them enjoyed the bounty of Marissa’s find, an adolescent boy on a motorized scooter rode directly into their camp and skidded to a stop. Both Matt and Marissa drew their swords and assumed combat stances in the span of a heartbeat.
"Oh, shit!" The boy yelped and fell backward with arms defensively crossing his face.
The two adults were over the boy before his fall ended. The tip of Marissa’s rapier rested lightly on his throat, while Matt pressed the
tip of his long sword against the boy’s shoulder. "You’d better talk fast," Matt suggested, "before she gives you a tracheotomy."
"I’m looking for Hank!" The boy’s voice broke with fear.
Both adults lifted their blades and Marissa offered a hand and helped the boy to his feet. "What’s your name," she asked as he stood.
"Brody," he answered, dusting himself off. "Where’s Hank?"
They showed the boy to Hank. Brody lolled his head and said, "Oooooh shit!"
"What’s happened?" Matt asked worriedly. "Is Evie okay?"
"No," Brody said. Matt gulped and opened his mouth to ask what had happened. Brody spoke faster. "I mean she’s fine, but things are bad and Stew’s taking the back way to Camas."
"Do you mean Stewart?" Marissa asked. "The man Hank asked to guide them to the meadow?"
"Yeah, yeah," Brody said with a nod as he eyeballed the forgotten jar of pears that they had dropped when he arrived. "Can I have some food?"
They revived Hank and fed Brody as he related the events of the past few days. "…And once Evie realized that Stew wasn’t going to give back the weapons, she just caved in. She stood right there, in front of everybody, and said as long as you can assure me that everybody will be safe, then I won’t get in your way." Brody spoke with disgust. "Everybody knew what she meant. She was just giving up."
Matt shook his head. "She was saving lives, Brody. So is that when you decided to find Hank?"
"No," he snarled. "I got sent by Stew."
Both Marissa and Matt looked surprised. "Why would he do that?" Marissa asked.
"Stew wants the combination to Hank’s lock. He said that after he gets the combination, he’ll send me back to tell Hank where his family is locked up." Brody shook his head and said, "But Evie and the others don’t know he said that. He told me that last part just before I left. And then he told me that if I said anything to the others, he’d lock me up with them and nobody would find us."